


His Burglar

by crashlandthetardis (artificertary)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, I couldnt handle not writing an AU, M/M, Shameless fix it, this is me fixing botfa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-03 23:32:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2892173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artificertary/pseuds/crashlandthetardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the last bit of his vision faded into darkness, he fought the black just long enough to see a figure flash in front of him, a glowing blue sword raised high. </p><p>Bilbo.  </p><p>Unconsciousness overpowered him, leaving him helpless on the battlefield.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Burglar

**Author's Note:**

> I just saw bofta today at IMAX which was awesome but also 10000X more depressing at the same time. I cried like a baby in front of my date. I dont think he minded though. 
> 
> Enjoy me trying to fix the pain.

It was worse than Azanulbizar. The carnage rose shrieking around him, felling dwarves and elves alike. Orcrist sliced through an Orc before beheading a goblin soon after. The high pitched scream of the bats pierced his ears, drowning out all other noise for the barest of moments. He ducked once, and then a second time, purely out of instinct to avoid the sharp talons that descended. 

It was then that he saw him. The Pale Orc. The Defiler that had destroyed his family and sought to destroy all that he had left. The monster rose above him, sat astride his white Warg. The heavily scarred face turned to a sneer when he caught sight of Thorin. 

Even through the last dregs of gold sickness, rage bubbled and boiled heavy in his chest. He hefted Orcrist high into the air and charged the Orc, prepared to rid the line of Durin of this atrocity and to take revenge for his grandfather. Azog laughed once, sending the Warg leaping into the air.

An indescribable pain seared through his arm and side as the Warg’s teeth tore through armor and flesh like it was nothing. The Warg opened his massive jaws and flung him back towards the earth. The scream that passed his lips sounded almost animal. 

He sailed through the air and landed heavily, his leg and a few ribs breaking from the force of it. All air left his lungs, leaving him gasping and in more pain than he had ever felt in his life. Colors spotted his vision for a few moments and the edges darkened. In his last few moments of consciousness he saw Azog dismount the Warg and stalk towards him, bloodlust clear in his eyes. 

It was to end there, then. The once proud line of Durin broken under the loss of one of the last members. If Mahal was merciful, then he would let Fili and Kili see beyond this battle. He would let the pair of them live well into old age. If they did not, he had failed them, and he had failed his sister. Thorin watched through clouded eyes as Azog stepped closer, sword aloft - 

As the last bit of his vision faded into darkness, he fought the black just long enough to see a figure flash in front of him, a glowing blue sword raised high. 

_Bilbo. ___

Unconsciousness overpowered him, leaving him helpless on the battlefield. 

Before any vision returned to him, it was the pain that assaulted him. It was everywhere, almost crippling. He hissed in a breath through gritted teeth, and thanked Mahal that he was still alive. Alive. All because of Bilbo. His words and deeds at the gate came rushing back, the memory of his fingers curling around the hobbit’s neck, around his One’s neck. 

Yet even after all that had transpired, Bilbo had saved him. Why? Why would he do that after he had hurt him so? Thorin deserved to be dead, would welcome it for the unforgivable things he had done. 

A weak, wet cough startled him out of his panicked thoughts. Thorin’s head whipped to the side, horrified at what he saw then. Bilbo laid pale and bloody on the battlefield, taking in labored gasp after gasp. 

Thorin stood, ignoring every bit of pain in favor of doing something, anything for Bilbo. It took only a few steps before he collapsed to his knees next to the hobbit, searching for the source of the wound. It was an ugly thing, deep and twisting. Thorin sucked in a breath and tore away fabric from his shirt. The pressure he applied was desperate, one last attempt at atonement. 

“Thorin. You’re alive.”

The dwarf laughed bitterly, and shook his head in wonder at his One before him. 

“All because of you, Ghivashel. I would take back my actions, and seek forgiveness –“

Bilbo smiled at him, and it tore away at Thorin’s already destroyed heart. 

“Confound you dwarves and your pride. It is done, and I,” He broke away into a coughing fit for a moment and began anew, “There is nothing to forgive.”

Bilbo’s eyes turned glazed for a moment, and it made Thorin’s blood run cold. 

“Bilbo, Bilbo please stay with me, I need you to stay with me. Do not go where I cannot follow. I beg of you, Ghivashel.” 

A small spark of light returned in his burglar’s eyes, long enough for Thorin to scream for aid until his voice ran hoarse. Oin and a few straggling elves appeared over the hill, spotting them immediately. Oin was the first to reach them, hobbling forward on one fairly injured leg. 

The older dwarf reached for Thorin first, but Thorin shook his head desperately, motioning to Bilbo in his arms. 

“Save him first. Anything that has happened to me can wait until he has been saved, please. Take him to my tent.” 

Oin nodded gruffly, already lifting Bilbo from Thorin’s arms with the help of the elves. They sped away quickly, towards the sea of white tents that had already been set up at the base of the mountain. Thorin watched them go, too weak to stand, let alone walk to the tents. 

It felt much longer than it actually was when a small group of healers walked toward him, roaming the battlefield for the wounded left behind. The elves helped him to the tent, Thorin too weak to protest. Tonics and salves were applied generously, as well as bandages and something to set his leg with. 

Night had fallen over the encampment by the time the healers had finished with him. None would answer his questions, each exiting the tent as quietly as they had arrived. 

Balin and Dwalin found him next, both breaking out into relieved smiled when they saw him. 

“Where is Bilbo? Is he – “The word that he wanted to speak made him afraid. If Bilbo was not to be by his side, then he did not wish to rule, no matter how hard won the mountain. Dwalin stepped forward and clapped a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Oin thinks he’ll make it. They have him resting in your tent. Fili and Kili are there as well.”

Thorin gave a simple nod, too relieved for words that both his nephews had survived the battle. 

“Take me to them.”

Balin gave a disapproving glare when Dwalin immediately reached out to help Thorin stand. Even so, he didn’t say a word as he followed his injured king and his brother to the proper tent. Lamps had been lit aplenty inside the tent, and if he had not known better, it almost looked as though sunlight touched every corner of the fabric. Fili and Kili could be heard through the partition, near silent snickers telling of their state. Thorin smiled to himself at their antics. Even after the battle of the ages, the pair had not lost their humor. The large cot in the middle of the room caught his attention, the figure on top of it even more so. 

The blood had been wiped away from Bilbo’s hair, leaving golden curls once more. He was shirtless and more bandages than he could count were wrapped around his middle, some tinted pink with blood seeping through. 

Dwalin procured a chair and left the tent with a nod of his head. Thorin watched his friend go for a few moments. He owed Dwalin an apology for their conversation in the mountain, but that could hold for now. Dwalin understood. 

Bilbo’s hand was cool to the touch. Thorin took both his hands to envelop Bilbo’s, bending his head low. What he had done could never be undone. Even if Bilbo truly forgave him, there would always be a shadow of a doubt, an inkling that what had happened could happen again. If Bilbo wished to return to the Shire when he was healed, then Thorin could not blame him. He had long since lost the right to ask anything of Bilbo. 

A weak hand broke away from Thorin’s grasp to weave its way into Thorin’s braids. He looked up with a start to find Bilbo staring back at him through half closed eyes. 

“Ghivashel.” Thorin’s voice broke then, the emotions that had gathered finally breaking free. He cleared his throat once, and then again, 

“What I did was unforgivable, and you do not have to absolve me of it. I would understand your wish to leave. Your garden, your books, and your armchair await you.” Bilbo patted him on the head, obviously trying to get his attention. When Thorin stopped speaking, Bilbo grinned just a little and said, 

“You think I would leave this mountain after I just fought a dragon to reclaim it? You have never been more wrong in your life.”

New hope blossomed in Thorin’s chest, a feeling that had been absent for far too long. 

“Truly?” 

Bilbo huffed a small laugh, rolling his eyes. 

“Truly, you idiot dwarf.”

If anyone had seen Thorin at that moment, they would not have faulted him for the tear that ran down his cheek, nor the kiss that followed after. It would take time for them to be the same as before, but Thorin found he didn’t very much mind as long as he had his burglar. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are better than sliced bread. 
> 
> If anyone would like, my tumblr is crashlandthetardis. I'll be crying about botfa for at least the next year. Feel free to talk with me about it!


End file.
